Page 6 of The Love Penalty

Ashton is first to go since, to no one’s surprise, he’s #1. While he might be a conceited little asshole, Jordan and I took him under our wing a few years ago. He was 22 at the time and was traded to us from the Vermont Vortices. With a big personality and a loud mouth, we made sure to keep him out of trouble. Now he’s 25 and one of our best forwards. So much so that he’s usually one of the go to guys that gets called up to the NHL when there is a need. He’s fast and puts up a lot of points. Ashton, Jordan, and I usually work well together and share the first line on the ice.

A few other teammates are introduced, and then it’s Jordan’s turn. His jersey is #20 and he swears it’s his lucky number. I’ve known Jordan the longest, for about seven years now. We met at training camp and hit it off immediately, so I invited him to my family’s cabin before that season started. He’s a Michigan native just like me, and as we were bonding we realized we actually went to the same high school. He was just two years younger than me so we never ran in the same circles, but he knew who Iwas. His sister Tangela is now married to my brother Michael, so in a way, Jordan is family too.

When they call number #31, I skate out and wave at the fans. The venue is packed even tighter than it was during warm-ups and that gives me a huge vote of confidence. I look around and notice that the referees and linesmen are out here already and talking to the coaches and crew. Half our team is out on the ice and the announcer continues to call out numbers. Elias skates up and lines up with the rest of us, his jersey proudly showing #35.

Not long after, the whole team is out here. We wave once more at the fans, and everyone but the first line heads to the bench. Elias takes his spot in the home net and the rest of us stay in a line and take off our helmets for the national anthem. Since we’re playing the Finchton Foxes, another US team, we only get to hear one anthem tonight. Their skill set is very similar to us and I don’t think they’ve made the playoffs in recent years either. However, we have something they don’t: a damn great goalie.

We get in the center ice face-off position, and now is my time to shine. The referee, Bob, is someone who’s officiated many of our games over the years and we have a great professional relationship. I nod at him and say, “Welcome back, Bob. Hope you had a good summer.”

“Cut the chit chat, Elliot,” he says with a smile and I return it. He tells us to get in position, and as soon as he drops the puck, I immediately send it to the side with a backhand. Jordan catches it and passes it along, but it gets intercepted by a Foxes player. We go back and forth a few times, until Ashton finally gets a hold of it and starts sprinting towards the Foxes net, with me on his heels. He encounters a defenseman and passes the puck to me. I catch it and wind up for a slapshot. The puck hits the net in the top right corner and the buzzer immediately goes off. And just like that, we lead 1-0 in the first 5 minutes of the period.

The next fifteen minutes go quite smoothly, even if we don’t score any more goals. Surprisingly, no penalties have been called yet tonight. Elias has made some amazing saves and the crowd is wild for him. They’ve been chanting his last name so all we hear as we head to the locker rooms for intermission is,“Kalias!, Kalias!, Kalias!”

As soon as we’re all in the locker room I say, “Great job guys, let’s keep up the momentum. Elias, you’re killing it out there. You’re a wall, man.” I pat his shoulder pad and smile widely around the room. Everyone is buzzing with excitement, and the coaches are all content.

“What’s wrong with you, Ashton?” one of our teammates asks.

“What do you mean?” he asks, confused.

“You didn’t visit the penalty box at all today, what’s up with that?”

Ashton rolls his eyes and ignores the question. That’s strange, he’s usually ready to tear into someone with comments. I go to sit next to him and quietly ask him “Everything good?”

He looks at me with a slight furrow in his brow. At first I think he won’t answer and I get ready to leave, but he stops me and quietly says, “I don’t know, man. Maybe I’m ready to be more mature or whatever. What you guys said at training camp really sunk in. I don’t want to be stuck here until I’m in my thirties and never go to the NHL.”

His eyes go wide as soon as he says it and he stammers, “Not… I mean—shit… not that I think you’re stuck… I just—um…” I put him out of his misery and place a hand on his shoulder, giving him an understanding look.

“It’s fine man, I get it. I’m glad you’re taking it more seriously, whatever the reason is,” I smile and pat his shoulder again and can feel the relief as his frame sags.

“I’ll need your help though, keeping me honest, keeping me in check. I know you already do a lot, but I would really appreciate it.”

“Anytime, kid.”

“Thanks, Grandpa,” he smirks and I walk away shaking my head.

“Alright guys, the second period countdown is up, let’s go out there and have some fun,” I say, clapping my hands and putting my gear back on.

We switchnets for the second period. The team fans out, taking their starting positions as I move to center ice. “How are the kids, Bob?” I say, coming to a stop. But I don’t get a reply. When I look up, I see that it’s not Bob with me at the face-off. It’s a woman. I’m so distracted for a moment that I miss her calling the five second count.

She says, “You’re off the face-off!”

I just stare dumbly and say with a laugh, “What?”

Her posture goes rigid, but she doesn’t look at me. She’s in position, puck in hand, and says more firmly this time, “I said, you’re out of the face-off, Elliot. Now I suggest you move before I give you a second violation and a penalty for delay of game.”

Shit. Okay, point taken. I move over and let another player take over the face-off. I’m still a bit distracted, so I miss the puck coming to me. I grit my teeth and swear to myself as I sprint down the ice with my teammates to regain control. Something nags at me amid the action, this woman seems familiar. But how?

Once my shift is over, I sit on the bench and I know my eyes should be tracking the puck, but instead they’re on her. Referee#13. I see an opening as a teammate heads over to the bench, and I jump over to take his place, except the puck comes towards us. Both he and I turn to catch it and we hear the whistle go off.

Referee #13 skates up to the box and calls out the penalty. “Manticores, #31, two minutes for too many men on ice.”

Fuck. I can’t even deny it, we definitely messed up. I’m disappointed in myself, I should have known better. As I skate by her to the box I turn to look at her and say with a smile, “Sorry, ref, won’t happen again.”

She looks up and pierces me with those dark green eyes. Wait. I do know her. Or at least, I’ve seen her before. She was at the brewery last night talking to Ashton. As we left the place, I looked back and saw her there, hair up in a ponytail, inquisitive green eyes glued to mine. I feel like we’re stuck in that same trance now as I skate by her.

She looks away first but I still catch a small smile as she says, “I’m sure it won’t.”

My penaltyin the second period really hurt us. While I was in the box, the Foxes managed to score on a breakaway. I feel like I let Elias down, he shouldn’t have been in that defenseless position to begin with, and I tell him so during the second intermission. He says it’s fine but I could tell he wanted a shutout tonight. We just need to do better in the third period.

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